


all familiar, penances and you

by july2008



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, self-indulgent last of us au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/july2008/pseuds/july2008
Summary: He doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s tired of everything. There was a time when he did more. But that was years ago.“You make me want to try again,” is all he can tell him.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	all familiar, penances and you

When they alert him that something had turned up near the fortified walls, Simon hopes it’s another wandering animal or lone infected. But it’s a man passed out from his wounds, and all he can think about is another med kit to waste, another mouth to feed, another soon-to-be dead body to bury.

The wounds, fortunately, are treatable, and the man wakes up hours later. Like the others who found their way to Jericho before him, he’s dazed, confused, and unaware of the disappointment set before him.

Names are exchanged ( _Markus, I’m sorry Markus_ ), and Simon wishes North would lower her rifle, wishes Josh wouldn’t be overeager to share information.

“We have running water and trained medics,” Josh starts, but Simon interrupts him.

“Our supplies are low. Food is scarce.” It’s a speech he’s given so often, always to looks of relief turning into frowns. “We don’t turn people away, but we’d understand if you’d want to leave, look for other refugee settlements.”

“There’s one seaside on the east coast. Might have better luck there.” North makes it clear she wants him to leave.

“Things are that bad here that you’re already giving me other options?” Markus asks.

They all exchange looks.

“We have kids and injured here. They take priority.”

But it’s not disappointment in Markus’ eyes, it’s more along the lines of _I know you can do better than this, I can help._

Simon wants to look away.

Two lean rabbits aren’t enough to feed four kids and fifteen— scratch that, sixteen adults. Truth be told, Jericho is barely holding together as it is, but its walls are still standing, and its small community is more than happy to offer Markus shelter.

The newcomer keeps his distance at first, only to corner Simon days later with questions he doesn’t have answers to.

“What happens when supplies run out?”

“We scavenge and hunt what we can in the area.”

“What about the town southeast of here?”

“It’s overrun with infected.”

“Not anymore, something’s driven them off. I passed through there a week ago. Stores were left untouched.”

Simon turns to face him because he already knows what he’s suggesting. North had brought up the idea many times, only for him to turn it down each time.

But with North it’s desperation to do _something_ , whereas with Markus it’s determination and an already formulated plan.

He thinks he’s made a mistake in leaving Jericho temporarily leaderless, but they need all the help they can get. Josh is loud to voice his concerns, but soon gives in to hunger. Four backpacks will be enough to last a week.

When Simon expects streets overrun with infected, the town is seemingly empty except for stragglers and old traps that are easily disarmed or avoided. When he expects store aisles with empty shelves, there are cans and non-perishables begging to be taken. He expects their luck to run out soon, one small mistake to make everything go wrong like it often did. But it never comes.

Their backpacks are filled to the brim, their steps a little lighter. Most of Jericho will be able to eat something for the first time in days, and all Simon can feel is guilt.

Their supply run turns into a weekly routine, and there doesn’t seem to be a shortage of food. It gives the refugees something to look forward to, and it’s like they’re living again, not just surviving. He doesn’t want to give in to hope, gave up on it a long time ago, but when Markus grins at him, he thinks they’ll be okay.

They grow closer in the gaps between supply runs, the four of them. North finds a bottle of whiskey on one of their trips, and for the first time since they’ve been brought together, they swap stories.

Simon doesn’t share much, and neither does North. It’s better that way. Leads to less grief, less heartbreak if they’re an unknown anomaly to each other.

But Markus makes time for each of them. He wants to know what Josh taught at college years ago before it all went to hell, wants to know how North got good at throwing a mean right hook, her fighting spirit still intact. 

Only when the other two retire to their beds does he want to know who Simon is (I’m nobody, just a survivor like you), how he came to lead this crew (the ones before me died out), what keeps him going (I’m not really).

Simon’s filter for keeping things bottled up doesn’t falter. Almost. Whiskey will have to try harder.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s tired of leading them to their slow, eventual deaths. Doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s tired of everything. There was a time when he did more. But that was years ago.

“You make me want to try again,” is all he can tell him. He finds it a little easier to look at him.

There’s no time for intimacy in a world that’s dying, but Markus knocks on his door later that night, and Simon wonders what Markus sees in him.

On their fifth supply run there are people with guns waiting for them at town (bandits, thugs, assholes, North calls them), and the four of them know better than to confront them head on.

Maybe they never had luck to begin with as they learn that the town was claimed territory, that they had been stealing from their stores.

“If those were your supplies, you should’ve had people guarding it,” North shouts from cover.

The one in charge ignores her. “That’s a month’s worth of food you’ve been taking, but I’m feeling generous. We could let you go, so long as you never come back here again.”

There’s an outburst of disagreement from the same side. “They need to bring back what they stole.”

“Sic some infected on them, make them hungry for something else.”

“Kill them now, get it over with.”

But their leader is adamant. “Today’s a nice day. Sun is shining. Let’s not ruin it.”

Simon sees North ready to stand her ground, Josh’s want to compromise, and the look in Markus’ eyes, the same look he had given him on the day they met. But they’re badly outnumbered; going back empty-handed would have to suffice than not going back at all. Generosity is a rare thing these days.

“We’re leaving.”

“A smart move,” their leader says.

North doesn’t speak to any of them on the trek back.

Two nights later he’s woken up by gunfire and screams. North is dragging him out of bed, shoving a pistol into his hands. There are tears in her eyes as she shouts at him to find the others. 

There’s death around every corner in the form of gunmen with molotovs in one hand, infected on leashes in the other. He remembers some of their faces from that day in town and feels sick.

All he can think about are the kids, tries hard to find them in the chaos. He hopes they’re just hiding a little too well for anyone to find, for him to gently coax out of their hiding place and into safety. When he finds none, he assumes the worst.

They find Markus and Josh defending some of their own who are bitten or shot or both, but it’s a futile attempt to save them. The refugees are dead within minutes.

It’s too late to do anything. They grab what they can and run.

In the early hours of dawn Jericho burns to the ground along with its dead.

They find temporary shelter in a rundown shack hidden away in the thick of the woods.

They’re shell-shocked, bloody, and bruised from the attack, exhausted from the chase that took place afterwards. The adrenaline stays with them, even after searchlights have long since faded from sight.

He tries to block out the argument happening between the others, unkind words exchanged with pointed fingers, but can’t. Can’t stop the tremors in his hands either. Any injuries they have are poorly tended to because their medic had been torn apart by a pack of clickers.

He goes over their names and how they died. Goes over the conversation held on the night back from town.

“We’ll sleep on it, see if there are other places to search in the meantime,” he had said when Josh opted to negotiate and strike some sort of deal, while North pushed to make trips during the night to take what they needed discreetly.

Both of those options wouldn’t have worked, even on the gamble that the bandits were merely dimwitted thugs. But now everyone’s dead, and he can’t channel the adrenaline to be angry like North because this is his fault.

There’s a strained silence, and he realizes their argument has shifted. Divided, they look to him on what to do next, but he can’t give them that.

“I’m not fit to lead,” Simon says, and it’s what he should have said weeks ago.

Markus shakes his head. “You took the safe route. There’s nothing wrong with taking the safe route.”

“Look where it’s got us.” He’s so close to crumbling.

“You’re looking back on what’s already happened. What matters is what you decide to do next.”

“I’m deciding now.”

He knows he’s letting them down, but if anything else happens under his watch, his heart will give out.

Josh spares him the spotlight of shame and turns to Markus. “What’s your call?”

It’s like a dying torch is being passed forward, the weight on his shoulders lifted only to burden another’s. But Markus slips into leadership so easily, Simon wonders if he’s done it before.

“They’re a larger group than we thought. We avoid them and get out of Detroit while we still can.”

“And go where?”

“The seaside settlement. Canada. Anywhere but here.”

Before they’re out the door, Markus places a hand on Simon’s shoulder, but so do sixteen others who sought safety but found death. The weight’s still there as a reminder, and it’s his alone to carry.

Heading east means having to cut through the city. They have next to nothing with them so pharmacies, corner stores, anything really will be a godsend, and the city holds those in abundance.

He hasn’t been back here since the beginning of the outbreak. Everything seems familiar, but so much has changed. The streets are colored with debris and overgrown flora and… armed patrols.

Funny how it turns out the very group they tried so hard to avoid have their own base in the heart of the city. It’s plain rotten luck at this point, and Simon almost wants to laugh.

“It’s not too late to turn back and go through the outskirts,” Josh suggests.

But if the bandits have a hold on Jericho, the outskirts are surely occupied as well. They’ll have to stock up and reach the border one way or another.

“We can use the buildings to our advantage, try and stay low,” Markus says, and none of them argue.

Jericho harbored a false sense of security, a moment to catch your breath and worry about rations. Out here, everything’s on autopilot. There’s no time to ask each other how they’re doing, no resolve for empty promises that they’re going to make it out okay.

Any hope Simon’s gained in the past month is gone now; he’s back to where he started. He trusts Markus because if any of them have a remote chance at this, it’s him. But he’s also resigned to the fact that they aren’t invincible.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever make it to the sea.

A bullet to the cheek. That’s how Josh dies, and none of them are able to process it.

The lower levels of the city are dark, and there are spores abound. In all rational sense there was no reason to have patrols stationed there. So of course they run into one.

They’re caught in an awkward standoff with a trigger-happy patrol, guns raised, their worries about other potential dangers momentarily forgotten. It isn’t the best time to test ideals and moral values, but Josh lowers his weapon.

“He’s just a kid.”

“A kid who’s pointing his gun at you.” North keeps her guard up.

“We kill him, then what? They find one of theirs dead on a patrol route? They’ll increase security and start looking for us.”

Their frustration festers, and so does the tension between all parties. None of them notice the lone infected shuffling its way to them. It’s the smell of rotting viscera that brings them back to their surroundings.

It appears behind the patrol, and Josh catches it in time to raise his gun once more. The patrol mistakes it as hostility and fires.

Everything goes south from there.

Josh’s body is too heavy to drag, not with so many things chasing them. It doesn’t sit right with them, abandoning him like that for onrushing stragglers, and for a while they’re tempted to go back. He deserved better, deserved a proper burial at least.

Josh had held onto his beliefs like a lifeline; things could never go back to normal, but people had it in themselves to rebuild a resemblance of it. Expected as much from someone who taught ethics. It was also what got him killed.

“The kids used to ask him what the world was like before,” Simon says slowly, because the silence from North and Markus is tearing at him. “He always ended up talking about his lecture notes, like they were his students.”

Former students reduced to soldiers or refugees, losing themselves in the need to simply survive.

“Carl would’ve liked him,” Markus says (who is Carl?), and it’s another testament that everything good from before had no place in this present-day world.

North is tense at every word, withdrawing herself altogether, and Simon fears they’ll lose her down a path he doesn’t want to follow.

(Seventeen now.)

The bandits must have found the bodies. Might be why the streets become busier with everything on full alert.

They stick to empty buildings, alleyways, department stores, most of which are already picked clean. The lack of sleep, their last rounds of ammo and supplies— they don’t say it, but it gets to them.

North is usually quick and resourceful. But her tenacity and focus wavers since Josh, since Jericho, and she steps into a counterweight trap that pulls her into the air. It’s a trap similar to the ones back in that small town. Traps that made a racket loud enough to bring droves of infected out of dark corners.

Simon tries everything to prevent another Josh. They need him— North swinging dangerously in the air, Markus pinned to the ground by a clicker.

He tackles the clicker without a second thought, heedless of digging knife and hand into its fungal growth, and it frees Markus who’s quick to shoot the cables, bringing North crashing down. The fight after is long and harrowing, against never-ending waves of infected of all types and stages, all hungry and screaming.

He’s never gotten used to killing infected, not like the way others did, but it’s automatic at this point when North and Markus are all he has left. Simon tries for the both of them, and miraculously, they pull through. But it’s not enough.

There’s a moment to catch his breath as he helps Markus up, turns to help North, and it’s when his heart sinks at the sight of her hand. Gnarled and bleeding. But the bite mark on her palm is clear as day.

Maybe if he helped her first instead of Markus… But there was so much going on. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does. It’s all he can do as of late.

“Knew it had to end one way or another, right?” Her voice is soft, unlike the outburst of rage he’s seen her hold in.

It’s unnerving to see her like this, like when she first showed up at Jericho’s doorstep looking small, like it was just her against everything else, taking weeks of coaxing and small talk to get her to barely open up. She’s back to her square one now, just like he is.

He sits down next to her. She doesn’t pull back when he takes her hand and wraps it with the last of the bandages they have. It’s reminiscent of that very night.

“Promised you safety when you came to Jericho,” he reminds her. “I never meant for this to happen. I’m sorry.”

She’s quiet for a while. “I did feel safe for a bit.”

Did she?

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He doesn’t believe her. But it doesn’t feel right to argue, and he decides against words of comfort because she’s never been big on words. He’s only able to listen instead, lets her take her time, and it’s enough for North.

“It’s not fair, what happened to us,” she says. She feels the inexplicable need to pull her hand away, hide her face, hates that even her voice wavers too. “None of this feels fair.”

She should be accustomed to loss, but the truth is that it’s fucking her up inside, always has, and it’s become a habit to just stow it away and let it simmer. Her anger wasn’t born from nothing. Anger that’s been costing her a chance to heal from whatever’s hurting inside, rooting her in endless disputes that’s left her at an impasse each time. Until now.

What comes next almost feels like a relief. She stands, a little taller than before.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to go out fighting. They killed Jericho, and they killed Josh, so I’m going to kill them.”

It’s a literal death wish. With her bite, there’s nothing they can do to stop her. Simon tries to rationalize; having the option to choose the way you want to go, maybe it’s a luxury few can afford.

He’s still in denial of what’s happening when Markus hands her the gun she dropped from her fall. A final look shared between all of them, raw and torn. And for a moment it looks as if she doesn’t want to leave.

She sets off on her own before they can change their minds.

When they’re near the outskirts, they hear gunshots in the distance. It ends as quickly as it starts.

They’re ambushed by a small group, and the sounds of gunfire and shouting attracts stragglers in the vicinity to them. It was honestly only a matter of time after the commotion they had made trying to get through the city.

A shot to the shoulder takes Simon by surprise well before he can even register the pain. When he falls from the impact, an infected lunges at him.

God, there’s so much blood.

It’s absurd, he thinks, to worry about how he’ll ruin Markus’ clothes when he feels himself being hoisted onto his lap. Even briefly forgets about his shoulder, only to be reminded when a hand presses firmly against it.

He isn’t in denial, it’s just pointless; the wounds, unfortunately, are untreatable anyway. He tries to focus on other things, like the looks of grief and plots of revenge already strewn on Markus’ face.

Markus.

There’s a desperate ache growing in Simon, not from the flesh tears, gashes too deep in his lower abdomen. It feels suffocating, enough that he wants to spill everything he’s bottled up. The bullet burns like the whiskey did, but so much more.

But it _hurts_ to move, hurts to even talk or open his mouth. To finally have the heart to tell Markus things but denied words— it doesn’t feel fair. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. He looks at him instead.

_Don’t go after them. Don’t lose yourself._

And Markus knows too well. If he follows North’s path, it’ll be a fight he can’t win, but maybe it’s better than facing all this grief alone, again. Grief that was first born from gripping an old man’s hand so tightly, it could’ve broken bones.

It’s a familiar path he doesn’t want to experience.

“Markus—” Simon’s voice is barely a whisper, a wheeze that’s thick with blood and pain and suffering.

It haunts Markus in the years to come. He leans in to kiss him and tastes blood and sincere longing.

Markus keeps his distance, but he knows that Simon knows he’s watching him. Maybe he doesn’t need an audience to know he’s having trouble with rations again and again, day after day, but Markus isn’t judging. He wants to help.

He does the math in his head, calculates portions, hunting trips, whatever they need, while Simon checks in with each of the refugees every night.

Markus notices it’s more apologies than check-ins, to deny them a meal. Swallowing their grievances so Simon alone could bear the weight of what he assumed as failure, when they were just trying to get by. It was always, “Sorry, I couldn’t find anything today”, not ‘we’.

He starts noticing other things too, kids begging him to read to them, the anxious and injured growing calm within his presence, North and Josh reaching a consensus whenever he intervened. Is he aware?

When Markus suggested the town, he had seen a flicker of it— the spark that had presumably brought the others here and kept them safe.

“You think that town can help us?” Simon asks him.

“It’s worth a try.”

The visible strain is still there, however.

“You’re doing it again,” Markus tells him.

“Doing what?”

“Worrying. But on your own.”

Simon smiles. “Didn’t know it had to be a team effort to worry.”

“Maybe not. But it could be.”

Markus searches him, setting aside questions and wordless affirmations for a later time.

Behind tired eyes and a soul that’s nearly given up, there’s guilt, fueled into selflessness, and if Markus reached a little deeper, compassion and warmth.

He wants to see more of it. He wants to share the weight of Simon’s own grievances if he’ll let him, because the world outside this small sanctuary is harsh and unforgiving, and they could all do with a little more warmth.

He follows the roads out of Detroit, and it’s nothing but highways long and bleak. When he reaches the bridge leading to the border, he’s alone, truly alone, and feels something akin to homesickness.

He’s halfway across and almost fails to notice the woman on the other side. Almost misses the small girl hiding behind her too.

The woman has her gun drawn on him, and for a moment Markus thinks he’s being robbed before he realizes how terrifying he looks. Never got around to washing his bloodstained shirt or the dirt on his hands from three makeshift graves.

The scenario he’s in reminds him all too well of Josh’s fate. He quickly lowers his gun.

“You’re not one of them?” she asks.

“Depends on who you mean, but I don’t think so.”

She studies him, like she’s trying to figure out how he came to look like _that_ , probably filled with hundreds of questions, but eventually lowers her own.

“We’re looking for a place west of here, called Jericho, I think. Heard they’re taking people in and have supplies to spare. Maybe you came across it?” she asks.

He never thought about how long Jericho had been around, how long they had been struggling to get by, if news like that were still going around. He hadn’t been there for its infancy— only its death. He’d been fortunate, even if it was short-lived.

“Jericho isn’t safe.” It hurts to say. Wants to do better by him. “It was before, but…”

There’s disappointment in the woman’s eyes, like bad news piled on top of another. Markus can’t be the bearer of bad news this way. He falls into his old habits, already working out some sort of plan, when the voices of bygone ghosts have a gentle grip on his shoulder.

_They can’t be trusted._

_We don’t have enough supplies to help._

_They’ll be a burden._

_We’ll be responsible for their deaths._

But then he pictures _him_ crouching down and offering a hand to the little girl. And suddenly, it’s so clear what he has to do.

“I’m headed for the east coast. Rumors of a seaside settlement. Would you like to join me?” he finds himself saying, offering, before he can think rationally about the whole situation.

The woman is taken aback.

“The city—everything past it to the west—it isn’t safe,” he says.

She’s considering it, going over her own options. It doesn’t seem like she has many options to begin with. They look tired of running and chasing rumors on end.

“Strength in numbers,” he tries again.

The woman and the little girl exchange looks, and Markus finds himself back in that room of uncertainty he had woken up in, to three people unsure of what to do.

Finally, “I know the roads that can take us there,” she says.

He never finds out what it was about himself that made people trust him.

Names are exchanged ( _Kara, Alice, give me something to fight for again_ ), and Markus wonders if he’ll ever tell them about Jericho and its people. He wonders if he should have told Simon about an old man and a troubled son.

Maybe he’ll tell Kara and Alice about all of them, stories to be told by a campfire over something non-alcoholic this time. Maybe years later when those memories start to fade, and he needs reminding to keep himself going.

But for now, they’re his own to carry. It’s all he has left.

( _You make me want to try again._ )

He hopes the sea reminds him of pale blue eyes, finally calm and free.

**Author's Note:**

> when dbh and tlou2 are released on the same day so you have this mess living in your drafts rent free for months… spitting this out before i make it worse skdfjs


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